Return to the Cave
by lulatron
Summary: A continuation of "The Cave" by Jose Saramago, based off of Plato's Allegory of the Cave. "Wouldn't he remember his first home, what passed for wisdom there, and his fellow prisoners?" The old man decides he must return to the cave. While waiting for him and her husband to return, Marta walks the dog. Written in the style of Saramago.


Written based on "The Cave" by Jose Saramago and Plato's The Allegory of the Cave for lit class. Written in the style of Saramago for my own enjoyment.

* * *

Wouldn't he remember his first home?

The glare of the shop signs and the colorful clothes, fliers littering the air, air which is already filled to the brim with the sound and smell of cars, people, and food, a heavily pregnant woman with a dog on a leash bumps into a man, Excuse me, Sorry, the man says, embarrassed, and the short silence before each had been swallowed by the crowd was missed by the two, each wondering who was the intruder, and who the victim after all, YOU'RE OUR BEST CUSTOMER, BUT PLEASE, DON'T TELL YOUR NEIGHBOR the customers' new favorite advertisement, laughed on a billboard on one of the buildings, Are they laughing with us, or at us, is what the customers forgot to ask, out of neglect, or maybe just from a comprehension that this was the best they could get, and that this was amusing, because this is what everyone laughed at, and the man with his shoulder still aching from the small crash walked into a skiing arcade and left the hall of advertisements, which kept on going, and going, and seemed like it would never stop.

The woman we are following at present, stopped to look in the window at the mock restaurant that sold food, she looked back and forth checking the vegetables, and meat, and eggs, or really the boiled carrots, mixed meat sauce, and types of omelets, because everything was made already, she only had to pick, which one she wanted, what her family would eat today, WHICH COURSE WILL MAKE YOUR MOUTH WATER, and if we could guess what the woman was thinking, it would go something along the lines of, Which course will my family eat, none of these, because they won't eat from this store, they won't eat from this city, not that the woman seemed as angry as bemused, eternally distant from the material world, yet also more aware than the passer-bys to the universe in the shop window, and the reality behind it. The dog seemed less inclined to agree with this assessment of the shop's innards, and would have been quite happy jumping through the glass, if it wasn't made of plastic steel, and if his mistress hadn't been holding him back. The actual food the human and animal had procured earlier that day was food given to them by a group that stole food from garbage cans, which was nowhere near her first choice for food, but it was food, and it would last them for a couple of days at least until they managed to disconnect, leave this city and return to the country where she grew up, the city her grandparents had visited, the school she had gone to, the friends she had had, and the house they had loved. The city also gave work, occasionally, which was what had funded their apartment until now, but it was no good, no sell, Tell it to the customers, but even if they had wanted to turn their despair to the customers they couldn't have because no one wants ceramic figures of nurses and dogs and bearded Assyrians that have already been proven to be either too big or too small, and in any case weren't suited to the market which was modern and fashionable. How they managed to recreate the dolls, in the city, and with what, is a story certainly worth telling, but at the moment we must go on with the dog owner or we will miss her completely.

The dog Found has adapted, can now separate smells even in the city, and he knows that home is getting closer, he can sense that his mistress is in a nervous mood today, but he has not given this much dog-thought, and as usual the move, if undertaken as planned, will take him by surprise but not unpleasantly so, because he does not think into things to much, because the move would reunite the entire clan, and being with his whole family was enough for him, even if they were not made out of the same stuff he was. They were made of clay, and he was made of, something else, a different type of clay, clay but without breath, breath but without clay, maybe he really was made on a different day than they were, and that made all the difference.

When his mistress turned into the side street with the brown buildings she passed, on her left, a small green car that had taken a parking place where there was usually placed a dilapidated old van full of clay figurines, a van which had taken off a few days ago with a plan and a strong will, a van that she had regretted releasing into heroism, then remembered she needed to, then regretted the naivety again, as if she was a young girl deciding whether she was loved or not, unable to sit in peace until the problem was solved in real life, and not just in the alleyways of her mind. Entering her, No, not her, their, why had she stopped the still beating hearts she was thinking of when she knew, when she still believed, hoped they would beat for much longer, their apartment she was welcomed by the woman who was too young to be her mother and too old to be her friend, Marta, sit down on this sofa, don't you want some tea, I've just been out for a walk, look at all the food, Why, Why what, Nothing, this is wonderful, we can make a lot and take it with us, they will love it, Really, Yes, although, do you think the situation is one good for leaving, said Isuara Madruga, who was also Isuara Estudiosa, and also Isuara Algor if reason calls for the title, do you think he would want you to go like this, We said we would go so we will, Marta took a few more steps into the diminutive living room and laughed, Found having run in so fast he nearly mashed into the far wall, we can only guess what or who he was expecting, but it's easy to make a rather good guess.

The rooms of the apartment, full of temporary, easy to replace furniture and stacked books, were loaded with awkward empty spaces and silences. Should we eat, said the older woman, Yes, of course, Marta sat down and her dual-minded body became one with the chair, leaving her breathing time to say, Wait, let's feed Found, After dinner, no, Alright, the two women and the third person sat down to eat, and the silence following thereafter was more than a silence of full mouths and drifting thoughts, but rather a silence of racing minds and conversation drafts in the shape of battle plans, Do you think we did the right thing, Marta asked, unable to hold in her first, easiest question, was it our duty to stop them, If they wanted to go, we couldn't have stopped them, Marta's retreating face betrayed her dissent on the opinion, and we shouldn't have, even if we could, some things are written down in past, present, and future, and this is one of them, You don't mean that, No, Isuara retreated, not the end, not the very end, we know better this time, and besides, I cannot imagine your father or your husband not, she stopped, Returning, Yes, exactly, not with the baby on the way, The baby, The baby, throughout the last few days, Marta had restrained herself countless times from imagining the baby's life, because her mind could only imagine a life with no earth, no clay, and no breath, a life in which her father had been driven by her grandfather to work for the last time while she was still surrounded, soft, unbaked and unable to protest.

When the phone rang, after dinner, neither woman was surprised, but as the dime could still drop in either direction, they knew the surprise was still coming, Isuara ran to pick up the phone, but gave it straight to her step daughter, wanting to give first pick to the person with the connection to the most people, and then regretted answering in order to skim the call for information that might be too upsetting, this thought process was lost to Marta, who might have noticed if she had not been waiting to be put through, Marta Algor, said the telephonist, which was a bad sign, but not yet the final, are you there, Yes, I am here, It is me, it was the head of the buying department, from the Centre, I handled your family's pottery, Isuara heard one end of the conversation and took a step closer to Marta, Are they alright, You do just what you want , don't you, just like your father, Are they, They came in a few days ago, with a large group from the towns, it is still unsure how they passed the Centre's security, which is, as you know, the tightest, safest place in the world, probably, And, I don't know what they meant to do, but sources say they didn't make much sense, I am sure, But they had much to say, As they should, I don't think the residents of the Centre like this aggressive philosophy much, it was overwhelming for them, I imagine so, So, Of course, I regret to inform you of this terrible news, I was, really, rather fond of your father, he was a smart man, Not that smart, What do you suppose he should have done, asked the head of the buying department, Marta Algor put down the phone, at the moment that a sharp pain went through her body, like a hand reaching out and squeezing her everything, she bent over the table and thought of today, and tomorrow, but not the day after tomorrow, because that was too much for a person made, after all, of one large cracked ball of sedimentary rocks and several breaths that were running out.


End file.
